


Dead Things (or: The Inconvenience of Surviving the Apocalypse)

by Tedronai



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Context? What context?, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange circumstances make strange bedfellows. Sometimes literally. Most of the time, not so literally. Which is good, because Asmodean has an annoying habit of stealing all the blankets and Elan is all sharp elbows and icy feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Taim makes a habit of picking up stray Forsaken.

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no excuse. None at all. I blame pettymotives (in the best way possible <3) and [this](http://pettymotives.tumblr.com/post/89377452800/elan-morin-tedronai-pettymotives-reasons-why) (you want to click that, trust me).
> 
> Disclaimer: The summary may or may not have anything to do with the contents of the fic but I'm unreasonably proud of it anyway and now I really want to include it somewhere.

The street was clear in both directions when Taim stepped through the gateway, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long, not after he had channelled here. He needed to move quickly. The changed — _zombies_ , Asmodean called them; Taim had no idea what that meant, and he didn’t care — could sense channelling and the place would be crawling with them soon enough.

He dashed a narrow alley until he came to a place where he could climb up to the roof. It was easy by now; he had done it many times before. The rooftops were relatively safe. The changed rarely found a way up here. He stopped to look around — the streets were still clear as far as he could see — before continuing over the slanted roof to the next. The buildings were practically leaning on each other here, and where there were alleys in between they were narrow enough to leap over. He was several buildings away when he saw, looking back, the shambling figures begin to gather at the spot where he had Travelled. They were slow in daytime, slow and clumsy, too clumsy to climb stairs most of the time, let alone scaling walls, but he wanted to be well away regardless. He didn’t want them following him, as they inevitably would if they sensed him still around, with the residue of _saidin_ clinging to him. He was unsure whether they could sense the ability itself — he didn’t want to get close enough to find out — but they seemed to be able to track a channeller for a time after using the Power, and that was inconvenient enough.

 

He was nearing his destination when he saw the smoke. Leaning on a crooked chimney, he stared in disbelief; he had never seen any evidence that the changed had any use for fire, and while fires _could_ start by accident… He changed his direction towards the thickening pillar of smoke.

Halfway there, he could finally see clearly where the smoke came from. The large building, possibly a lord’s manor once upon a time, was separated from the rest of the town by a high wall… Which meant that to get there, he would have to get off the rooftops and down to street level. That was not something he particularly wanted to do, but he was intrigued. Perhaps the gates would still be intact and the manor grounds would be clear.

A closer look dashed that hope; the massive wrought-iron gates hung open as if in an invitation. Taim approached as close as he could get without leaving the rooftops and stopped to assess the situation. The second floor appeared to be on fire; flames were fast devouring the heavy curtains in the windows he could see. And the building was, at least on this side, surrounded by the undead. And a moment later he realised why they were so intent on getting into the burning building; he felt _saidin_ being channelled within.

This meant that there was a living person — one or more — in the building.

This _also_ meant that getting him — or them — out alive would be tricky to say the least.

But he had to try. He hadn’t seen another living human being besides Asmodean in weeks, and while he had never held the vast majority of mankind in any great esteem, he was quite ready to admit that it would be nice to know they weren’t the only two left. If only because the Forsaken’s constant complaining got tedious after a while — although even that was better than the times he _stopped_ complaining. The plan Taim stitched together wasn’t much of a plan, but if he was lucky, it would work. If he was unlucky… He didn’t want to think about that option.

 _Asmodean is going to kill me_ , he thought wryly. Another thought followed; _I hope he gets the chance._

 

Taim dropped to the street below and approached the manor wall cautiously. A quick look around found him an empty barrel — not too rotten through to hold his weight; good — that he could use to climb on top of the wall. Crouched there, he assessed the view once more. The masses of undead seemed to be concentrated on this side of the manor house. The wall… Taim frowned. The wall was narrower than it had looked. It would have to do. _You’re insane._ He could hear the words in his mind in Asmodean’s voice, as though the Forsaken was standing next to him.

“I’m not sure I disagree,” he muttered. And he drew _saidin_ and channelled.

The abandoned merchant’s cart on the other side of the street burst into flames.

Taim took off at a run along the top of the wall, as fast as his feet would carry him, very carefully shutting out any thought of what would happen if he lost his balance. Breaking his neck in the fall would then be the best possible outcome he could hope for. _No!_ He couldn’t afford to think about it.

Not until he was almost to the other side of the manor grounds did he stop and turn to look whether he was being followed. He crouched in the shadow of a great oak tree growing near the wall, trying to catch his breath. It seemed that his gambit had worked; the masses of undead were shambling out through the gates, their interest in the manor house gone for the moment. Taim almost couldn’t believe his luck. But he had no time to stop to congratulate himself. He still needed to get into the burning building. He ducked under the oak’s low-hanging branches and continued along the wall until he was on the opposite side of the building. The way was clear on this side, for now, but there was still the fire to consider. If only he could locate the poor fool inside…

“Well, that was easier than I expected,” he muttered; no sooner had he finished the thought than a figure in black appeared on the third floor balcony. The man — presumably; someone _had_ channelled _saidin_ — seemed to be clutching something to his chest, but otherwise nothing about him indicated that he was in the least alarmed by the situation. Taim shook his head in exasperation. A channeller who had survived this long on his own should already know that they couldn’t just channel their way through this.

Suddenly the stranger started, and Taim knew he had been noticed. He tried to think of a way to communicate that didn’t involve channelling or shouting, but the best he could come up with was just waving like an idiot. Which he did. The stranger stared impassively. Taim decided that he didn’t have time for subtlety.

“Can you get down here?” he shouted.

“Why would I want to?” came the response.

 _Because your house is burning down?_ But Taim suspected the man was aware of the fact. “Just do it!” he shouted back. No reaction. He estimated the distance in his mind — he could easily do it, but the amount of Power required would bring everything unliving within several blocks down on his head. _So, then we run._ He drew _saidin_ , as little as he could get away with and not fail, and channelled ropes of Air to pick up the stranger from the balcony. The disbelieving yelp almost made Taim laugh; the situation was absurd enough to be almost funny. He quickly levitated his catch — who kept muttering indignantly in a language Taim didn’t understand — over to the other side of the wall, and jumped down himself.

The stranger glared at him. “You _dare?!_ ”

“Oh, I do,” Taim replied curtly. “We really don’t want to stay here.” He grasped the stranger by the hand and started off at a run, hoping they could make it to the rooftops before too many… _things_ … turned up. The stranger followed reluctantly at first but then seemed to decide that it was easier to run than try fighting himself free from Taim’s grip. Besides, whatever his reasons for not wanting to leave a burning building, he didn’t appear too fond of the idea of staying around to wait for the undead to catch up.

They ran until Taim spotted a place where they might be able to climb up to the rooftops — and not before time, because the path ahead was blocked. “If I boost you up first, are you going to co-operate and help me in turn?” he asked.

The stranger shrugged. “Beats getting infected, I suppose.”

Figuring that was about as good as it was going to get, Taim nodded curtly. Getting the stranger up to the roof was not difficult; he was shorter and slighter than Taim and not completely hopeless at climbing once he had decided to do it. Following himself was the tricky part — he should have got himself up there first, he hadn’t been thinking, and now it was too late — but somehow, after a few interesting moments where he couldn’t be sure whether he was going to end up on the roof or they were both going to fall back to the street, he managed to pull his body over the edge of the roof. Panting, he rolled over to his side, to look at his companion. The stranger was looking back at him, likewise trying to catch his breath.

“…I think you can let go now,” the stranger said after a moment.

Too exhausted for embarrassment, Taim let go of his hand. He appeared to have torn his sleeve, he noted with some dismay. He didn’t have another coat, and thread for mending clothes didn’t grow in trees. He sighed and pushed himself up to his knees. “We have to keep moving,” he said. “They don’t usually get up here but I think I used up my luck for the next week or so, back there.” The street below was swarming with the undead. “They won’t be giving up for a while. We’ve both channelled recently. The residue attracts them. Light knows why…”

The stranger snorted softly. “Oh, it has nothing to do with the Light,” he said, sounding almost bored. It occurred to Taim suddenly that he couldn’t place the stranger’s accent — although there was something familiar about it. The same applied to everything else about the man; pale and delicate, he could have been an exceptionally tall Cairhienin… Except that there was nothing of the Cairhienin nobility in his manner, and he was certainly no commoner, not with those soft hands and immaculate nails.

“Yes, thank you for your input,” Taim snapped. “Now, get up.”

“And then what?” the stranger asked mildly, looking decidedly disinterested.

“And then we get out of here,” Taim replied. “I can bundle you up again and carry you if you wish but I suspect you’d find it less degrading to walk.”

“Can you, now?” the stranger said, this time with a razor-thin edge of amusement and something more dangerous in his voice.

Taim shrugged and started off over the roof. “Maybe not, if you really decided to fight me,” he conceded, remembering the amount of Power he had felt channelled earlier. “You didn’t, back there, though,” he went on. “And if you were trying to fight those things—”

“Zombies,” the stranger said. “You may as well just call them that, you know.”

Taim shot him an irritable glance. “—If you were trying to fight them for any length of time before I showed up, you’re probably worse off than I am and chances are I could tie you up like a parcel and throw you over my shoulder and— Well, you get the picture.”

“And such a charming picture it is,” the stranger muttered. But he was following.


	2. In which living with two Forsaken turns out to be slightly more inconvenient than one.

They reached one of Taim's Travelling points — locations he had spent time learning, spread out over the town in case he needed to make a hasty exit — without further incidents. At some point Taim realised that the stranger was still carrying the bundle he had been holding when Taim first saw him. Somehow he had managed to hold on to it through their mad flight, and even hauled it up to the roof with him.

"What's in that?" Taim asked.

"All I could salvage," the stranger replied, sounding almost indifferent. But it seemed to Taim that he clutched the bundle a little tighter.

 

The place he Travelled to was almost two miles from where the camp was located; Taim preferred to take as few risks as possible. The likelihood of there being any of those undead here, far from any formerly inhabited areas, was next to nonexistent but regardless he felt more comfortable not Travelling too close to the camp. The amount of Power required for Travelling was as good as lighting a beacon if any of the things by some freak chance happened to be in the area.

 

"Do you have a name?" Taim asked as they walked.

The stranger shot him a sideways glance. "You may call me Elan," he said. "Elan Morin."

"Mazrim Taim," Taim introduced himself in turn. "Taim will do."

A thin smile twitched the shorter man's lips. "As you wish."

 

They walked the rest of the way in silence. The camp was in a small clearing deep in the forest; there was a small stream that originated from a cold, crystal clear spring, a fire pit with a tree trunk for a bench on one side, and a shelter that was something between a tent and a hut. Asmodean was nowhere in evidence, but emerged from the tent when Taim and Elan approached.

"Took you long enough," the Forsaken said… and froze. Colour drained from his face as he stared past Taim at Elan. "What…" he began but his voice failed him. "How…" he tried again, with no better results. Elan was likewise staring at Asmodean, although unlike Asmodean, he didn't appear about to faint.

"…I take it you two know each other?" Taim said warily. Finding a new campsite would be an inconvenience he really didn't need to be dealing with, but if it came to a fight… He wouldn't dare risk staying in the area.

Elan slowly turned his attention from Asmodean and looked at Taim with open speculation — and the first hint of interest — in his eyes. "We have been acquainted," he replied, as if it was of no consequence. "Tell me, Taim," he went on, "you _are_ aware that your… ah, companion, is—"

"Asmodean," Taim interrupted him, with an impatient gesture. "Yes, I am aware. Was there something else?"

"You're obviously _not_ aware," Asmodean interjected, in a voice tinged with hysteria, "that _he_ is Ishamael!"

 _That explains the accent._ Taim looked at Elan, who shrugged as if to say that he was going to neither confirm nor deny the accusation. Which pretty much confirmed it because anyone who _wasn't_ the Forsaken called the Betrayer of Hope would surely have denied it. For a moment Taim simply stared while his mind considered and discarded half a dozen variations of ' _why me?'_ before shaking his head in dismay. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Ishamael, is it? Somehow I imagined you would be taller."

If he had expected indignation or even anger, he would have been disappointed; Elan merely shrugged again and the earlier spark of curiosity was gone. He looked out of place on that forest clearing — somehow even more so than Asmodean, and Asmodean looked like a brightly coloured parrot next to a raven, compared to Elan. A rather apathetic raven and a frightened parrot it was. Taim wondered idly how many different types of disaster this could possibly end in, but then he decided that none of them seemed about to strike right now and he could afford to worry about that later.

"Make yourself at home," he said, as casually as he could manage. "I'm going to check the snares." He set off into the forest, but he hadn't gone far before he heard hurried footsteps following. He stopped and turned to face Asmodean just as the Forsaken reached him and grasped his arm.

"You can't mean he's going to stay!" Asmodean blurted out. He still appeared shaken but had it under control now.

"I can and I do," Taim replied. He pried his arm gently from Asmodean's grip and held his gaze steadily. "As long as he doesn't cause trouble. He's the first human being we've found in weeks."

Asmodean gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Human?" He shook his head, shivering visibly. "I don't think the word applies to Ishamael…"

"Whatever he is, then," Taim said. He placed his hands on Asmodean's shoulders and repeated, "As long as he doesn't cause trouble, he can stay."

"But… why?" There was no fear in his voice, now, nor even that much disapproval, but instead a world of confusion.

Taim sighed; he was going to have to explain — that was how partnerships worked — but he wasn't entirely sure himself beyond the reasoning he had already given. "I saved his life," he eventually replied. Ignoring Asmodean's incredulous stare, he went on, "He didn't want his life saved. That…" He trailed off with a grimace. "That makes him my responsibility." He wasn't sure that made sense, but it seemed to be good enough for now.

"I see," Asmodean said faintly. "I suppose you think you know what you're doing, then." He sounded far from convinced — and Taim knew from experience that the tone meant that the argument was far from done — but it seemed that he was going to let it lie. For now.

"I appreciate your confidence." Taim ignored the irritable look the wry tone earned him. "I'm going to check the snares now before it gets dark."

"Because instead of food you brought back a third mouth to feed," Asmodean noted.

"And as long as I'm the one hunting, cooking and doing most of the gathering, _you_ will not be complaining about that," Taim replied smoothly as he turned to go. He could hear a less than impressed snort behind him, but he didn't turn. Daylight was wasting.

* * *

Asmodean watched Taim vanish into the forest — the man was good at woodscraft, hunting and the sort, although Asmodean had had his doubts initially. Hell, Asmodean still had doubts — did he actually have anything else? — but Taim seemed to take every single one he voiced as a challenge, and so far he had not failed to meet one of them. Of course, it was never going to be enough — they were going to starve or freeze or be overrun by the zombies sooner or later no matter what they did — but Taim sure seemed determined to try.

And now there was… Ishamael. Asmodean turned back to the camp to find the other Chosen sitting on the tree trunk by the fire pit, still holding the bundle he had been carrying. Curious despite himself, Asmodean peered at the bundle. Its shape looked like… _Books?_ He very nearly rolled his eyes. Trust the man who had been Elan Morin Tedronai to try to save a handful of books when the world was ending. Books were probably the only thing the man found worth attempting to save.

 

Asmodean gathered an armful of firewood and set about to making a fire — it was still summer, but nights were already getting cooler, and the sun would be going down soon. He wondered briefly what they were going to do when winter came; he wasn't looking forward to camping here in the forest through the winter. It could be worse, he supposed… although not much. Once the fire was burning merrily, he sat on the other end of the bench. And tried hard to ignore the man sitting on the other end.

Ishamael shot him a look that might have been mildly amused. "I'm not going to harm you, you know," he said, as though explaining the obvious. "If you really want to keep living like this, that's your problem."

Asmodean glanced at him. "It's better than dying," he muttered. It had to be. There might be such a thing as fate worse than death, but this wasn't it, not by a long shot.

"If you say so." Ishamael turned his head to stare into the fire, and the way the flames reflected in his eyes and the firelight cast shadows across his face gave him a deranged look.

Asmodean wished Taim would hurry up and come back.

* * *

The sun had vanished behind the western forest by the time Taim returned, two plump rabbits slung over his shoulder. He gave Asmodean a questioning look — Asmodean shrugged — and then, without a word, began to skin the animals and prepare them for cooking. Once the rabbits were roasting over the fire, Taim set to work on the skins. Asmodean had watched the process before — it no longer made him queasy — and there was something fascinating about the way Taim worked, methodically, with sure, economical movements, wasting neither time nor energy on anything unnecessary. Everything about it spoke of a man who knew what he was doing. Of course, Asmodean knew how Taim had come by most of his survival skills; he had got the story out of him gradually, over too many nights of nothing to do but talk or think. Taim had lived like this before, and alone, besides. Asmodean supposed it was lucky, now, that he had; without his skills their life would have been considerably more complicated.

Ishamael was watching Taim, too, and there was something almost like curiosity in his expression. But he didn't say anything, not even when Taim had hung the rabbit skins up to dry, stretched on a wooden rack made for the purpose, and joined the two Chosen by the fire.

Taim gave the two of them — sitting as far from each other as possible on the bench — an exasperated look, then sat between them. "Has neither of you spoken a word since I left?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. Two pairs of eyes regarded him blankly.

"There is not much to talk about," Asmodean said eventually; he owed Taim that much co-operation at the very least. Regardless, few words were exchanged throughout the supper or until it was time to retire for the night. Asmodean could see that Taim hadn't thought about where their new companion was going to sleep.

 

The tent was spacious as far as tents went, and relatively uncluttered. There was a bed on one side, which consisted of an improvised straw mattress and a miscellaneous collection of furs and rugs and blankets and that they had managed to scrounge up on their trips to villages and cities. There was a chest that held most of the miscellaneous items they now owned, and a folding chair that currently held a small pile of clothes to be mended once they could find more thread. The tent floor was covered with more rugs.

Asmodean observed idly that the tent, which never felt particularly small when it was just him and Taim, suddenly felt crowded with the three of them. Likewise the bed, wide enough for two, suddenly seemed smaller when he thought of sharing it with Ishamael. He stole a glance at the other Chosen and saw him frowning at the bed. He had set the books on top of the chest and held the velvet cloak in which they had been wrapped awkwardly, as if considering what to do with it.

Taim folded his coat neatly and placed it next to the books. Then he bent to take off his boots. "Are you two going to stand there all night?"

"I think I'll just sleep on the floor," Ishamael said.

Taim shook his head in exasperation. "Don't be an idiot. The ground will be cold. You don't want to catch a chill, believe me. Nobody has the time to be dealing with that."

Ishamael stared at him flatly for a long while. Then he shrugged, if a touch stiffly. "Very well, then."

 

In the end Ishamael took up almost a full half of the bed despite being physically the smallest of the three; Asmodean supposed that Taim, who had ended up in the middle, was no more thrilled at the prospect of sleeping next to the Betrayer of Hope than Asmodean had been. Asmodean didn't mind. It was warmer like this, anyway.


End file.
